


Let it Snow

by TheDreamingSpires



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Christmas, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-19
Updated: 2014-12-19
Packaged: 2018-03-02 04:58:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2800436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDreamingSpires/pseuds/TheDreamingSpires
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Christmas oneshot featuring Arianne, Jon and some very ugly festive jumpers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let it Snow

**Author's Note:**

> I've been feeling the Christmas spirit recently, and decided to celebrate with a oneshot. Completely different universe to every other piece I've written ;)  
> HAPPY CHRISTMAS (and any other holiday you're celebrating - have a great one!)

Arianne staggered into her apartment, the shopping bags wedged onto her arms at awkward angles spilling as she attempted to turn off the burglar alarm and shut the door behind her in a single movement. She slipped on a pile of letters that had accumulated on her doormat, making her stumble and drop some of her bags, causing a waterfall of Christmas gifts onto the tiled floor. The alarm still beeping angrily, and the front door still gaping open, Arianne stood on the mat for a second, staring at the mess and regretting every life choice which had led her up to this moment. She was stunned back into motion by the sound of someone else’s door opening along the corridor, and she slammed her own door before entering the alarm code and collecting up her gifts. In a moment of illogical spitefulness, she left the letters on the mat. None of them would be for her, anyway.

Margaery wasn’t home yet, so all the lights and the thermostat were off, forcing Arianne to wrap her Barbour closer around herself to keep warm as she went to turn everything on. After she finished, she stood and assessed the kitchen for a moment, rubbing her hands to together in anticipation for the rising temperature. Eventually deciding on a course of action, she headed straight for the fridge and pulled out a bottle of white wine, pouring herself a generous glass and turning on the television just in time to see the seven o’clock news headlines.

 -

Two hours later, Arianne had wrapped nearly all of the presents that she had bought that day, including Margaery’s, which were now safely stowed somewhere she definitely wouldn’t find during one of her regular manic cleaning fests. While she had been wrapping, the room had reached its normal comfortable, toasty temperature, and Arianne had stripped off her coat and scarf, leaving her in just a particularly ugly festive jumper (which she was very proud of – it had won every ugly jumper contest she had entered so far, even the hotly-contested one at yoga class). The only bits of Christmas that Arianne actually enjoyed were the stupid clothes and buying presents for the people she loved. As a child, Christmas had been a completely religious occasion, and once she had turned eighteen and escaped she was too old to feel the magic that her friends had been experiencing since childhood. Nowadays, Christmas was mostly a drag for her, a day when she was repeatedly reminded how dysfunctional her family was, and how long she had been single for. As she danced across the kitchen to the tones of Band Aid (the good one from the 80’s), refusing to accept her slightly sad existence, and in her quest for a wine top-up, she heard the doorbell ring.

The cheery _ding dong_ gave Arianne a fright, as she hadn’t heard it in ages, if she had ever heard it before. Margaery had a key, and any guests from outside the building had to be asked to be buzzed in from the main door out onto the street. This doorbell was only ever used by people from inside the building, and Arianne knew no one who lived in the building – she was a firm believer in the courteous smile-and-nod pass by, never bothering to strike up conversation with, well, anyone.

Arianne wandered over to the door and peered through the peephole. Whoever it was, they were either very tall or standing very close to the door, as all she could see was a blue, mohair jumper. As she considered just pretending that she wasn’t there, the stranger spoke.

“Um, hi? I’m 4A. Sorry to bother you – I know it’s late. I have your post. It got mis-delivered this morning. Do you—,” he faltered as Arianne opened the door with a flourish.

“Oh!” he continued, smiling awkwardly at her. “Hi, again. Are you 4C? I mean – Margaery Tyrell? Or maybe Arianne Martell?” He shuffled letters in his hand, almost dropping a couple on the floor. When she stayed silent, he looked up at her again, eyes flicking over her hideous jumper and fitted black skirt.

4A was reasonably tall and athletic looking, lean muscle filling out his blue jumper and acid-washed jeans. His black Converse All-Stars were scuffed and well-loved, but scrupulously clean. He was wearing a navy blue beanie and thick-rimmed black glasses, giving him the general look of an arty, hipster type, and Arianne guessed that he was probably an illustrator or a journalist. From behind his glasses, grey eyes blinked uncertainly at her, and he fiddled with the black hair spilling out from under his beanie as he waited for her to do something.

“I’m Arianne,” she said after a silence that stretched on a second too long to count as ‘comfortable’.

“Jon,” he replied, reaching out to shake her hand, and seeming surprised when he found her hand to be cold, despite the warmth emanating from inside her flat.

“Poor circulation,” she explained, folding her arms again. “So, can I have my post?”

“Oh, sorry. Of course.” Jon flustered for a minute, making the letters into a neat pile, all facing the same way, before handing them over to her as a wodge.

She took them and smiled, thanking him quietly as she flicked through, immediately realising that all but one were Christmas cards for Margaery. The only thing for Arianne was a charity appeal for donkeys in the Middle East, the kind of thing that went to millions of people.

“You don’t happen to have mine, do you? My post?”

Arianne blinked at him for a second, thinking. Suddenly remembering the letters she had slipped on earlier, she looked down. Embarrassed, she realised she was standing on a pile of post, presumably none of which was actually hers (or Margaery’s).

Breaking out of her trance, Arianne hunched down and started scrabbling at the cards, making her own haphazard pile, and dropping the post Jon had just given her in her haste to get his back to him. “God, I’m sorry. I didn’t realise these weren’t ours. It’s been a long day.” She attempted an ‘oh-I’m-so-stupid’ laugh, straightening up and pushing the newly formed pile of letters addressed to ‘Dr J Snow’ into his hand.

“Lots of post there, Dr Snow. Lots of people who love you.” Bitter? Not Arianne. Never.

“Or just an unfeasibly huge family,” he laughed in reply, absent-mindedly creating an ordered pile out of her chaotic mess.

“Oh, sweetie. I have one of those, and I still only have five cards inside. Oh, and one of them is from my boss, and he’s addressed it to Marianne.”

Jon laughed, and his voice was wonderfully deep and satisfying. Arianne wanted him to keep laughing forever. “That’s tough. What do you do for a living?”

“I’m a fashion designer, if you can believe it from someone wearing a jumper like this one.”

“I was wondering if that was once of your own designs,” Jon joked.

“Sadly, no. I still have a way to go before I can design a masterpiece like this. A girl can dream, though.” She sighed dramatically. “What do you do?”

“I’m a lecturer at UCL, if you can believe it with the beanie.” He winked at her, confirming Arianne’s suspicions that his tone was flirtatious. “So essentially, I talk a lot and read a lot, and spend a lot of time surrounded by ferociously intelligent eighteen year olds.”

“Aah, so ‘Dr’ as in PhD?”

“In History and Politics, yeah. Specialised in medieval warfare. I’m much more eloquent on paper than I am in person.” Jon looked anxious and embarrassed for some reason. Arianne had no idea why – she’d always thought that smart was sexy.

“That sounds really interesting, Jon.”

“Well, I hope my students think so too.”

“I’m sure they do.”

They stood in silence for a second, looking into each other’s faces. Arianne wished she’d had a little bit less to drink earlier – she wasn’t drunk enough to have lost her inhibitions, but was a little too tipsy to work out whether the silence was loaded with sexual tension (as she thought it was), or just plain old tension between two people who barely knew each other.

“Am I interrupting?” Margaery asked as she approached the door, looking stunning in a green tailored dress and with her hair done up in antique bronze pins. Surprisingly, Jon didn’t stop looking at Arianne for even a second.

“Jon this is Margaery. Margaery, this is Jon. Our post got mixed up, and he was kind enough to bring all your many cards over.”

“Thank you, Jon,” Margaery said warmly, slipping through the front door and wedging herself next to Arianne in the doorframe. “Would you like to come in?” Crap. Why hadn’t Arianne asked that earlier? No wonder there had been tension – she was being rude.

“No, actually, but thank you. I should be getting home. Nice meeting you both, 4C.”

“You too!” trilled Margaery, shoving Arianne back into the apartment and shutting the door behind them.

 -

After Margaery had finished her shower and made them both hot chocolate, she insisted on a full run down of Arianne’s conversation with Jon. They spent a moment discussing how good-looking he was, and although Margaery insisted that Jon had been flirting with Arianne (apparently she had lurked for a moment before making herself known, typical of her sneaky self), Arianne denied it. Eventually, they settled down to watch Love Actually on DVD.

A couple of hours later, they started getting ready for bed. As Arianne loaded the dishwasher, Margaery went to lock the front door. When she had finished, she came wandering back into the kitchen to give Arianne an envelope with her name written in scribbly handwriting on the front.

Opening it in full view of her over-tired friend, Arianne smiled at the picture of a white wolf wearing a Santa hat, howling at a full moon shaped like a Christmas pudding. She opened the card and read the message inside.

_Dear Arianne,_

_I would have addressed this to Margaery too, but we all know she has more than enough cards. You, however, appear to be severely lacking, and what sort of neighbour would I be if I let that continue?_

_MERRY CHRISTMAS!_

_We should hang out more. You know where I am. (Actually, did I even tell you? I live in 4A, just in case. I think I shouted that through your door, but you may not have heard.) Feel free to visit wearing your amazing jumper – I have one which could give yours a run for its money._

_Oh, and don’t bother sending me a card – I have more than enough too._

_See you,_

_Jon_

 

Arianne smiled and handed the card over to Margaery, who squealed and ran to put it up next to Arianne’s other cards.

“I guess he is more eloquent on paper than in person,” she murmured, stroking her jumper and making her way to her room, turning off lights as she went. Maybe this Christmas would be slightly less awful than previous ones, even if it was only because she finally had some serious jumper competition.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
